


Teaching Timothée

by isitandwonder



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Timothée Chalamet fandom
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Spanking, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: After returning from Italy, Timothée is flat sitting a new neighbour's apartment. The mysterious Miss Jones intrigues him and makes him curious until he becomes a little reckless. But Miss Jones knows how to deal with nosy boys, giving Timothée a thrashing he'll remember for a while...





	Teaching Timothée

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stmonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stmonkeys/gifts).



> This is for the amazing Chalamazed who did the most gorgeous drawings for some of my fics. For her birthday she wished for a story featuring Timothée and a mature woman like us...  
> This is not my usual fare but I wanted to give her what she asked for so this is what came to my mind. I hope you like it?
> 
> Justine Jones is a character from a legendary porn film from the golden age of porn: The Devil in Miss Jones (1973).  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Devil_in_Miss_Jones
> 
> I tried to model Miss Jones after the actress who played her, Georgina Spelvin.

The bell rang.

“Timothée!” His mother shouted from the kitchen. “Can you get it, please?”

Timmy got up from the couch, skidded down the corridor on socked feet, almost crashing into the apartment door before opening it.

“Sorry, but we've already found god-”

“Good for you.” The woman in front of him replied, a bemused, lenient smile in her deep voice. 

Timmy squinted up at her from under his fringe. “Do I know you?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest to somehow appear broader than he actually was without any idea why he felt the need to do so.

“I don't know, maybe? But no, I guess you're too young to remember me. How old are you? Sixteen?”

“I'm twenty.” Timmy was aware that he sounded slightly annoyed.

“Is that so?” The woman eyed him from head to toe and Timmy felt suddenly hot. He was just wearing sweatpants and an old hoodie – a stark contrast to the elegant black dress that accentuated the slim waist and full bosom of the woman opposite him. Why was he ogling her cleavage? Timmy, get a grip. She was old enough to be his mother.

Luckily, he got saved by his actual mother approaching from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Ah, Mrs Jones, is it not? Hello. You already met my son Timothée.”

“Miss, please.” The woman was still looking at Timmy. “So that's your son?” The way she said it made Timmy's face flush bright red.

“Yes, he just returned from shooting a movie in Italy.”

“Oh, lovely. You're an actor as well.”

Timmy just nodded until his mother gently nudged him. “Ye-es. At least I'm trying.”

“He's very talented.” His mother chimed in. Timmy prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“I'm sure he is.” Miss Jones answered, finally taking her eyes off Timmy, who let out a breath he'd been unaware he was holding, slowly morphing into the background of the flat. 

“I'm sorry to ask, I usually have someone at my disposal but just now they suddenly had to...”

He was about to slip away to continue lounging on the couch when his mum grabbed his arm.

“My husband and I are traveling to France for the next few weeks to visit our daughter. But Timothée stays here to look after our apartment. I'm sure he can look after yours as well. Okay, Timothée?”

“Sure. Of course. Cool.” Cool? Did he really say that? Oh god...

But Miss Jones' red lips curved into a smile. “That would be too kind of you. I'm always very grateful when someone does me a favor.”

She had large brown eyes, Timmy noticed, dominating her face. Her curls were neither red nor brown but some color in between. She was almost as tall as he was, due to patent black high heels, which seemed the most natural thing to wear for her on a Sunday morning.

They arranged that Miss Jones would drop her spare key the next day and that Timmy would go over once a day Monday to Friday to feed her cat around midday and bring up the post while he was staying at his parents' flat and Miss Jones was at work.

Miss Jones offered her hand before she turned to walk down the corridor and Timmy barely suppressed the impulse to sink to her feet and kiss her palm – or her shoes. Her high heels clicked on the tiled floor as he watched her leave, taking in the swing of her full skirt and her shapely legs clad in seamed stockings...

“Who is she?” Timmy asked after his mother had closed the door.

“The new neighbor. I told you someone moved into the Koslowski's apartment last week.”

“You told me it was an retired actor – not Betty Page.”

“How come you know about Betty Page, Timothée? Was she in one of your rap videos?” His mum grinned and winked as she returned to the kitchen. “And she is a retired actor. Performer. I think she was quite famous during her time...”

Timmy started his duty on Wednesday. He didn't know what to expect in Miss Jones' apartment but he still was surprised by its interior. Miss Jones lived in one of the smaller units, just two rooms, a bath and a kitchen. Her living room was painted a dark violet, with sparse furniture all made of bright chrome and black leather. There was almost no clutter, just a framed photograph of a naked woman holding a snake above the couch.

Her bookshelf comprised books on ballet, opera and film history. Despite her obvious proclivity for vintage chick her stereo was a wireless Bang & Olufsen. When Timmy switched it on the Ride of the Valkyries blasted through the apartment.

He placed her few letters and a small parcel on the coffee table and opened the door to her bedroom.

One wall was covered by a built-in closet with mirrored doors. Another huge mirror hung at the ceiling above the queen size bed, its frame made of black metal. The walls in here were a deep crimson. Between the windows currently hidden behind black velvet drapes stood a black lacquered sideboard.

Timmy knew he shouldn't pry.

He even felt a little guilty as he opened the first door of the cupboard.

It held clothes – dresses, blouses, skirts – all in black. At the bottom stood various high heels, black as well. Timmy brushed his hands carefully over the fabric, eliciting the heady smell of a rich, expensive perfume, listening to the whisper of silk and satin.

Behind the next door were drawers filled with stockings, bras, corsets, panties in what appeared to be Miss Jones' favorite color – black. Timmy stared at the lacy items but didn't dare to touch.

When he walked over to the sideboard his knees felt a little weak. It was a bit disappointing to discover that the drawers were locked.

Timmy almost jumped as something soft brushed against his ankle. But it was just the cat, reminding him to feed her.

The next day, he tried his luck again with the sideboard. This time he'd broad a bunch of spare keys from his parents apartment but none of it fit. Damn! His curiosity was further provoked by a black see-through negligee left on the bed. 

Timmy brought it to his face and inhaled, smelling the same sweet perfume the clothes exuded.

On Friday, he was surprised to find the top drawer unlocked. His breath hitched when he pulled it open to look inside. Placed neatly next to each the drawer held different riding crops and canes and other instruments Timmy didn't know the name off but which could surely be used to administer a severe thrashing.

His cock twitched in his pants as he took a very thin, leather covered rod out and weight it in his hands. He even brought it down onto his thigh and winced, despite not having used much force.

As the other drawers were still locked he could only image what he would find inside but it served him as wank material over the whole weekend.

On Monday, the bottom drawer was left slightly ajar. Timmy crouched down in front of it, his eyes widening at what he saw: rubber, glass and metal toys, some anatomically correctly shaped, some definitely not, lying on a bed of red velvet matching the color of the walls.

Timmy reached for a ripped glass dildo and held it in his hand. It felt heavy and cool. Licking his lips, he imagined what it could do – or, more precisely, what Miss Jones could do with it to him. His other hand drifted between his legs and almost unconsciously started to palm himself.

Maybe afterwards Miss Jones would use one of her canes on him...

Timmy sat back on his heels, spreading his thighs a little. Just before his eyes fluttered shut, he glimpsed something black and shiny under the bed.

Crawling over, he discovered that it was a delicate lace pantie, almost see-through. When he pressed it to his face and inhaled he almost came in his jogging pants.

He could smell her, tangy and a little sharp, reminding him of ginger.

It only took Timmy a few seconds to shove his jersey pants down to mid-thigh. Wrapping the hand still holding the underwear around his dripping cock he sucked half of the glass dildo into his mouth, moaning round it. Turning little to the right he caught sight of himself in the mirrored closet doors. Watching himself like this it only took a few more strokes to come all over his fingers and the pantie within, scratching his sensitive shaft.

Later, he wasn't sure if he'd put the toy back into the drawer and what he'd done with the underwear in his post-orgasmic haze. The question kept him up most of the night, but instead of fear of getting exposed he felt arousal at the prospect.

Therefore, it was more a relief than a surprise to find Miss Jones sitting on her leather sofa the next day when Timmy came over. The items presented on the coffee table made him flush all over, growing hard immediately.

“Timothée, close the door, please, and come over here.” Her voice was deep but not unkind. Timmy suddenly realized that the naked woman in the photograph holding the snake was no one else than a younger Miss Jones.

He walked over to the couch and stood in front of it, hands behind his back. Miss Jones was wearing a black ladies suit today, with a tapered waist and a slim knee-long pencil skirt. Her long legs, covered in sheer black stockings, ended in shiny black boots reaching up to her knees.

Timmy felt almost unable to swallow and feared he might start drooling all over himself when Miss Jones took the riding crop lying on the low table in her hands and used it to pick up a shamefully crumpled-up piece of fabric.

“Do you know what this is, Timothée?”

Timmy's face grew even hotter. He could only nod.

“Speak up.” She didn't raise her voice but there was suddenly a sharp command in her tone.

“It's... it's... your panties.” He whispered, staring at the little square of lace dangling from the tip of the crop.

“Indeed, it is. So why did I have to find it dripping with cum, shoved under my bed?”

“I... I'm so sorry.” Timmy felt his knees starting to shake. His voice trembled.

“Oh, you will be, I'll make sure of that. But first I want an answer to my question.”

Timmy was suddenly unable to keep standing, his knees giving out. He sank to the floor, covering his face in his hands.

“I'm so sorry...” He sobbed. “I knew it was wrong but I couldn't... I looked into your drawers and there was all this... stuff... and I just had to... had to-”

“Oh, my poor little boy. Did you get excited when you saw all my toys. Did you want to play with them?”

“Yes, Miss Jones.” He heaved.

Timmy felt the leather tongue of the crop brush his chin, lifting his face.

“Look at me, Timothée.”

He blinked at her through his tears.

“I'm not mad at you. But what you did was wrong and you need to be punished for it, don't you agree?”

“Yes, Miss Jones.” An excited calm settled over Timmy.

“I make you choose your punishment. Would you like me to use the crop or the peddle first?”

Timmy's eyes drifted over to the table where he saw next to the defiled underwear what must be the peddle Miss Jones was talking about. It was a broad, black leather flogger yet it looked much less intimidating than the crop Miss Jones still held in her hand.

“The peddle, please, Miss Jones.”

She smiled. “Very good, Timothée. Now, go over into the bedroom, undress completely and lie face-down onto the bed. Oh, and you better take this with you and shove it in your mouth. I don't want the neighbors complain when you start screaming.” Her smile widened as a shudder ran through Timmy's body when he reached for the soiled pantie.

He did as he was told, at last putting the stiff lace into his mouth. He could taste himself as he swallowed.

Miss Jones kept him waiting. He had time to get used to the cool satin comforter against his skin, offering soft friction for his straining cock.

Eventually, he heard Miss Jones' heels on the floor, then a door closing.

“Spread your legs a little but don't be a slut, Timothée. Rest your cheek on your folded arms and look at me. Are you afraid?”

Timmy stared up at her as he exposed himself further, a blush tinging his face. She towered above him, the black peddle in her right hand.

He nodded.

“Good. This will hurt, but you deserve it. I'll give you ten for a start.”

She brought the flogger down in quick succession, altering between his ass cheeks. The pain made tears well up in Timmy's eyes.

When he looked up, he saw himself in the mirror on the ceiling, his ass almost as red as his face.

When she was finished with the peddle, she exchanged it for the riding crop.

“Now, this might be much worse. Your skin is already irritated. You'll really feel the sting.”

Timmy closed his eyes when he heard the crop hiss in the air. The pain was blinding, like a sharp cut through a dull ache. He could feel his ass throbbing – much like his cock. He was torn between rutting against the duvet and trying to wiggle away.

“If you move we'll start over again.” He made a sound of protest, quickly silenced by another blow. “If you make noise as well.”

So Timmy bid down on the filthy lace filling his mouth and accepted his punishment, one blow after the other. 

Miss Jones took her time, pausing in between, looking down at him, demanding he kept his eyes open.

He watched as she laid a criss-cross pattern over his ass and the back of his thighs, bright red welts decorating his pale skin.

After the final blow she allowed him to spit his makeshift gag out and get up.

He instinctively sank down onto the floor, kneeling at her feet. His ass felt on fire and he gasped, bowing his neck.

“Thank you, Miss Jones.”

“Very good, Timothée.”

He felt pride at her kind words.

“Now, this was quite strenuous.” She sat down onto the bed. “You could help me unlacing my boots.”

With shaking fingers Timmy set to work, happy to be of some use to Miss Jones. He first pulled open the laces on the left boot before carefully removing it from her slender leg, staring down at the sheer shimmer of her stockinged foot.

“Now the other.”

He did as he was told, forcing his fingers not to linger on the leather of her boots. He was sure he wouldn't be able to take another punishment today.

When both her feet were bare she placed her stockinged feet on his naked thighs, her toes almost touching the base of his still painfully hard cock.

“Would you like to be allowed to unfasten my stockings?”

“Yes, please, Miss Jones.” Timmy's head snapped up, eagerly. He bid his lower lip as he watched her decide.

“Okay. But no nonsense. Or I use one of my canes on you. They are designed to split the skin, leaving nasty scars.” She smiled down at him, well aware that his cock twitched at her words.

When she spread her legs Timmy leaned closer, his fingers creeping slowly below the hem of her skirt, feeling for the fastenings of her stockings. He groaned and had to bite his lip again as his fingers brushed against her soft thigh above the silky garter.

Unhooking the fist stocking he started to roll it down her leg, exposing creamy skin.

“Very good, Timothée. Now the other.”

This time, he leaned even closer, pushing her thighs a little further apart to reach up, up, risking a glance at her black satin underwear visible between her legs... he wanted to brush his fingers against that dark triangle, or, even better, his mouth, feel her wetness, taste her, suck and lick... but a sharp strike with the riding crop over his back stopped him.

“God, you're horny, Timothée. Like a teenager. When was the last time you got laid?”

He told her, kneeling at her feet, his head resting in her lap as her fingers carded through his curls; told her about Italy, about Armie, and about how it all went to shit.

“My poor, sweet boy. I can't mend your broken heart but I surely can replace your heartache with another sort of pain. A much more delicious, pleasurable pain. Would you like that?”

Timmy looked up at her, smiling. “Yes, Miss Jones.” He nuzzled her lap.

The sharp yank at his hair made him grin as his head was pulled away. But when she slapped his face it stung.

“No.More.Of.That.” She pushed him further away before sinking back down on the bed. Timmy felt lost.

“Oh, for god's sake, come up here. You can massage my feet.”

Timmy curled up at the end of the bed, grateful for being allowed close again, taking her beautiful feet into his hands, pulling her long toes. The red varnish of her nails was a beautiful contrast to her white skin.

“How long will you parents be away, Timothée?” Her voice sounded calm, dreamy, enthralling.

“Three weeks, Miss Jones.”

“Because... my current maid had to go visit her family over the summer. But I need help at my studio. Someone who cleans the toys, changes the sheets, does some shopping, just things like that. You wouldn't be part of the scenes but you could watch. Would you like that, Timothée?”

His heart swelled. “Yes, Miss Jones.”

“Good boy. Would you like to jerk off now while sucking my toes?”

“Yes, Miss Jones. I'd like that very much.”

His tongue circled the big toe of her right foot while her left pressed against the center of his chest, her slim toes resting at the hollow of his throat. One of Timmy's hand was wrapped around her narrow ankle while the other was wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking himself.

He tried to prolong the sensation but Miss Jones' foot crept up his neck, pressing firmly against his Adam's apple.

“If you get spunk on my skirt I'll have to punish you again, Timothée. You haven't seen my strap-ons but believe me, they are huge. They might split your tiny ass in half.” 

Timmy closed his eyes, canted his hips upwards in the direction of her voice as his hand sped up – and fell, plunging into darkness filled with the promise of delicious tortures.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Chalamazed!


End file.
